Unravelled
by HanaSyoubu
Summary: [Sam-centric] Episode related - ISOTG - Spoiler - He didn't get shot. His best friend did.
1. Unravelled

Note: This is a strange little snippet that attacked me after a re-watch of ISOTG.  
  
  
Unravelled  
  
  
"Sam. Let's go."  
  
He's looking at his hands. They are red. Soaked with warm stickiness.  
  
Blood. On his hands.   
  
He has seen plenty of blood before. There's the time he cut himself with a Swiss army knife while sailing, or that time he tripped and hit his head on the coffee table. Minor accidents, mostly. Sometimes he gets accident-prone. Half a pint of blood, half a dozen stitches. Nothing too hard to fix.  
  
Did he cut himself again? He watches as a droplet slowly trickles its way down his finger, then his palm, and onto his cuff. A crimson blotch on the bleached white fabric like a poppy in a field of snow.   
  
It isn't his. It's Josh's. Josh's blood.  
  
Shouldn't it be inside Josh then? Why is it on his hands?  
  
He was holding Josh's hands, for that couple of seconds before the paramedics pushed him away. Josh's hands were bloody.  
  
Paramedics?  
  
Josh was shot. They were being shot at, and Josh was shot.  
  
But that's wrong. Josh was all the way in the back of the pack, barely out of the building, while he and CJ and Charlie were right beside the President in open air. How did Josh get shot? Did the attackers think they'd get bonus points for the difficulty of their targets? Did they think it was all a game? They have never seen their best friends lying on the ground with holes in their chests. Never seen the fear and the pain the confusion and the anguish in their eyes. Never seen the blood on his shirt on his hands and everywhere.  
  
He couldn't do anything for Josh, except holding his hands for two and a half seconds.  
  
He didn't do anything for Josh.   
  
He can't save everyone.  
  
He pushed CJ down. She hit her head, but she didn't get shot. He saved her. He even picked up her necklace.  
  
She was right beside him. Josh was in the back by himself.  
  
He didn't even look for Josh after the shooting ended.  
  
He was helping CJ. He was trying to get a grip on the situation.  
  
His best friend was sitting on the pavement while the life bled out of him, all alone, and he was not even looking for him.   
  
Josh's blood is heavy on his hands. His hands are shaking under its weight.  
  
Toby found Josh.  
  
Toby did. He didn't, but Toby did.  
  
"Sam!"  
  
Toby is shouting.  
  
They're taking Josh to GW. He and Toby are going to follow the ambulance.  
  
But he's standing here talking to himself looking at his hands.   
  
"Sam! What the hell are you waiting for? Get into the car!"  
  
He has to pull himself together.  
  
He can't do it.  
  
He doesn't have a choice.  
  
They need him. He can't afford to come unravelled. Not tonight.  
  
Josh needs him.  
  
"Yeah. I'm coming."   
  
He'll be there.  
  
  
~ Finis ~  
  
  
Thanks for reading! :) 


	2. Vigilance

Title: Vigilance  
Written by: Hana   
Rating: PG  
Disclaimers: Not mine. Borrowed them when Sorkin wasn't looking.   
Spoiler: "In the Shadow of the Two Gunmen"  
Summary: They are all better now, aren't they?  
  
  
Vigilance  
  
It was four forty-two in the morning, Josh noted as he slowly shifted his weight on the hospital bed, careful not to jar any of the IVs still attached to his body. Not for much longer, he hoped.  
  
The stage right before the sweet victory of walking-to-the-bathroom-on-one's-own and right after the blissfully doped-up oblivion was the most annoying of them all, he had decided, where the reduced amount of painkillers had numbed the worst of his pains, but not enough of his brain.  
  
Now that he wasn't unconscious twenty-three and a half hours a day, he was starting to get bored. Under Donna's strict regulations, not only he could not ask about work, he could not even mention the words, "work", "politic", "congress", "senate", or their variations, in any government-related context. Because she didn't want him to stress himself out. She and his mother and Leo and everyone else. Stress, his ass.  
  
"The Simpsons" reruns could only go so far, and restless was an understatement.  
  
Thank god there was always Sam.  
  
Looking to his left, Josh wasn't surprised to find the sleeping figure folded uncomfortably into the plastic chair by his bed. Sam's head was tipped forward, his chin almost touching his shoulder. His glasses sat halfway down his nose. A memo lay on his lap. His tie was loosened, and his hair was ruffled. It had become a comfortingly familiar sight.  
  
Sam had been coming to see him every day - one of the more pleasant constants among the colossal annoyances.  
  
Occasionally, he came in the mornings before going to work, or during breaks, but mostly he was there at night. He would read articles from the day's newspapers to him, behind Donna's back of course, or tell him how Cathy gave away his entire stock of Twinkies again, or how Toby almost hit Leo with one of his balls. Donna would kill Sam, if she found out what they had been doing all along. But she never would, not if he could help it. His best friend was keeping him sane, especially during those nights when he had trouble sleeping. Not to mention he was currently leading with five games to Sam's four in their little name-that-congress-member contest.  
  
He was pondering if he should wake Sam up for another game, since his friend usually got up around five anyway, when he caught a quick twitch of Sam's hand out of the corner of his eyes.  
  
He watched him for a moment, and wondered what it was that he was dreaming. Anything it might be, Josh didn't think it was sun-tanning on a Bermuda beach surrounded by bikini chicks. A deep frown had grown on Sam's face, and his hunched shoulders tensed. Maybe he was having trouble writing in his dream? His hands twitched again. Both of them this time.  
  
Deciding that he would wake Sam after all, Josh reached out, and shook the speechwriter's knee gently. The action elicited no response from the sleeping man.  
  
"Sam." Josh tried again. He shook hard enough this time to make the document on Sam's lap slide onto the floor with a not-so-quiet flop. And it worked.  
  
His friend woke with a sharp intake of breath. His eyes snapped open, as he sat up abruptly in his chair.  
  
"Sam?" The tension in his posture was making Josh nervous.  
  
Sam didn't answer. In fact, he wasn't even looking at him. He was looking at his own hands. He examined them, palms and backs and palms and backs, as if he were Luke Skywalker inspecting his newly installed cybernetic hand.  
  
"Sam?" Josh repeated. Concern laced with his voice.  
  
Finally, Sam looked up. He stared at Josh for a long moment, then closed his eyes and breathed out a heavy sigh. His frown relaxed, and his expression melted into something akin to relief.  
  
"Josh." He took off his glasses, and rubbed his face with both hands.  
  
"You okay?"  
  
"Yeah." He slowly nodded, then looked up, his eyes meeting Josh's. "It's fine."  
  
"You sure?"  
  
"It's nothing. Just a dream." Sam glanced away and nodded again. Then an apologetic look loomed on his face. "I'm sorry. Did I wake you?"  
  
"No, I was awake. What was it?"  
  
"It's nothing."  
  
"Bad dream?"  
  
"It was just... a bit intense."  
  
"Yeah. I know how they can be."  
  
"They're just dreams."  
  
"That's all they are." Josh nodded. "Just dreams. And nothing more."  
  
"Yeah." Sam looked at the clock on the wall, and rubbed his eyes again. "Anyway. What are you doing awake at five in the morning? Donna's going to kill you if she finds out. No, actually, she's going to kill me if she finds out."  
  
"Like she isn't going to kill you if she finds out you've been reading the newspapers to me?"  
  
"Yeah." Sam pondered for a brief moment. "I suppose it's too late to worry about it now."  
  
"I'll never tell. Your secret is safe with me."  
  
"Josh, you can't even keep your own secrets." Sam snorted. "Remember that time you told everyone at the Christmas party how your first kiss was with a boy in second grade?"  
  
"Hey. In my defence, I was drunk at the time!"  
  
"You were on your second beer," his friend replied with a small chuckle. "Anyway. I'm going to splash some water on my face. Try to go back to sleep."  
  
"I'm not tired. I fell asleep around seven thirty last night."  
  
"What did Donna do?"  
  
"She was reading some woman's autobiography to me."  
  
"Okay. You want to do something, then? I have to leave at six. Staff at seven this morning."  
  
"How about another game?" Josh grinned. "Give you a chance to even up, just so you don't have any excuses."  
  
"I don't need any excuses. I'm letting you win because I'm a good friend. But sure, we can do that. And I can get newspapers from downstairs."  
  
"Along with two cups of coffee?"  
  
"You're pushing it, Josh."  
  
"Oh come on, Sam. You're my best friend."  
  
"And I don't want you to have survived an eighteen-hour surgery only to have died of a caffeine-induced heart attack."  
  
"I'm fine. In fact, I'm doing great. The doctors said so."  
  
"Then you'll get to drink coffee again soon enough. You can wait."  
  
"Geeze. I swear, you're worse than Donna sometimes."  
  
"Just be glad that I read newspapers and not autobiographies to you."  
  
"Go get the newspapers. And finish your coffee before you come back."  
  
"Demanding, aren't we?" Sam snickered.  
  
"What are you waiting for? Get going now."  
  
"I'll be right back."  
  
"Well, I'll be right here." 


	3. Wear

Wear   


Wear

  
  


"Hey, CJ."

"Hey."

"The release for tomorrow." Sam handed her a green folder, then flopped onto the couch. "Take a look. See if you need anything else."

"Are we going to mention Thornton?" she asked as she flipped through the pages.

"Yeah." He sighed, then took off his glasses and rubbed his face. "There's really no way around it, so we might as well get it out on a Friday."

"Okay." CJ looked up after scanning through the release. Her eyes lingered on him for a moment, then she asked, "How're you doing, Spanky?"

"Fine." His answer came almost before she finished her question. "What do you mean?"

"'Cause you don't look so good."

"I thought I always look good. You said so yourself." A corner of his mouth lifted up reflexively into a tired smile.

"You used 'irreconcilable' three times in the first couple of paragraphs." She closed the folder and left it on top of her stack of documents. Pushing away from the desk, she leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs. Her hands folded neatly in her lap. Her eyes locked onto Sam with a measuring gaze.

His smile withered, and his lips pressed thin.

"Sam," CJ started, as she took off her glasses and threw them onto the desk.

"Sorry about that," he muttered. Glancing towards the door, he stood up abruptly. "Give me an hour. I'll send you a new draft."

"Not so fast. Sit back down."

Eyeing the door not three steps away, Sam stood still for a few moments, then finally complied with a sigh of resignation.

"Donna told me you've been spending most of your nights over at the hospital."

"Josh needs someone to keep him company. He's bored out of his mind."

"Donna's there with him most of the day."

"I'm usually there at night."

"Sam, when was the last time you sleep in your own bed?"

"I'm his best friend."

"Who also happens to work fifteen-hour days for the President of the United States."

"We all are, CJ, and Charlie even longer than that. I just need to get more - more organized."

"You shouldn't do this to yourself."

"He wants me there."

"Josh is not three years old. He'll understand if his best friend needs to sleep in his own bed every once in a while."

"He was shot."

"But he's fine now. If he's well enough to complain about too many 'Simpsons' repeats on TV, then he will probably be able to handle a few nights on his own."

"You don't understand. I should -- He's been... " He trailed off, closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. "I want to be there for him. I have to be."

"You can't keep on going like this."

"Of course I can."

"You're exhausted. You look bad. Even your writing is - "

"I was a bit tired. It's been a long day. Give me an hour - "

"That's precisely the problem, Sam. Don't you see? You're burning the candle on both ends!"

"I can do it. I should be there for him. I have to be."

Their eyes met; neither said a word. Finally, CJ sighed. She got up from her desk, and moved to sit on one of the guest chairs in front of Sam.

"You know, when I said that I didn't feel beholden to you..." she paused, and glanced down for a moment. "Well, actually, I did. Just a little bit."

"You really don't -"

She held up her hand and interrupted him. "Let me finish. I was very glad that you were where you were, because otherwise, I would probably be the one with an eight-inch scar on my stomach right now. And we both know how that would ruin my bikini look."

"At least Josh wasn't a bikini kind of guy." Both of them chuckled a little at the image.

"Don't blame yourself for not being there with him, Sam. It wasn't your fault that he got shot."

"I didn't even look for him afterwards, when he was sitting there..." Sam's eyes were on his hands. "I should've... at least..."

"You can only be in one place at one time, and you were with me."

"It's just that... There was so much blood. It was everywhere. His shirt, his hands, the pavement..." He closed his eyes and forcefully shook his head. His hands reached up to his face, rubbing wearily, as he took a deep breath.

CJ wordlessly reached over, her hand rested lightly on his shoulder.

"But it's okay now. Everything is fine." He exhaled the words with a shaky breath.

"Go home and get some sleep, Sam. You really can use it."

"I promised to bring him some stuff tonight." Sam checked his watch, and started to stand. "Actually, I should go. I'll send the release over once I finish it."

"Okay." CJ nodded, then stood up and walked over to her fridge. "You know what, have a beer with me, then I'll let you go."

Sam looked at her warily, but he took the beer when she handed it to him.

  
  


~~~

  
  


"Hey." Toby walked into the office. "Have you seen - "

He stopped when he saw Sam sleeping soundly on CJ's couch covered with a maroon quilt.

"Nice quilt. Did you drug my deputy?" A hint of surprise was mixed with a note of amusement.

"It's Carol's, actually. And no, but I gave him a couple of beers." The press secretary peered over the computer screen, finished up the last few words of her memo. "I was going to have my way with him, but then you showed up and ruined everything."

Toby glanced at Sam and snorted. "I was just checking to see if you're ready to go."

"Sure." CJ closed down her computer, and put a few documents into her briefcase.

"How 'bout him?" Toby nodded towards the sleeping figure on the couch.

"What about him?"

"Are you just going to leave him here?"

"Yup. No point in waking him up, he'd just go back to the hospital instead of his apartment. Might as well let him sleep."

"Yeah," Toby answered with a sigh as he looked at Sam. "I'll talk to Josh."

"We should." CJ nodded as she turned off the lights. "But first, let's get some dinner."

"Fine with me." Toby shrugged and followed her, closing the door quietly behind him.

  
  


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Questions and comments please send to hana_syoubu@yahoo.ca. Thanks. 


	4. A Minute

A Minute   


A Minute

  
  


6:13 a.m. 

So read the fluorescent green digits.

Sam exhaled a slow breath, blinking as he made a right turn at the flashing lights dimmed by drizzles. Windshield wipers beat a constant rhythm against the erratic drumming of the rain. The streets were eerily empty, with occasional passing cars and joggers. Still too early for much traffic.

He glanced over to the passenger seat, confirming yet again that he had remembered to bring the paper bag with him. Magazines, videotapes, a few mini-bags of chips, other things. Stuff he had promised to bring to the hospital last night, before he got drunk and fell asleep after a couple of beers.

Maybe CJ had a point; he must be tired. He couldn't remember the last time he had got drunk on two beers. He didn't think he had ever gotten drunk on two beers. He certainly hoped not. If he had the time, he would have been embarrassed. 

But he didn't. He had just finished CJ's press release before he left. He would have to head back right after he dropped off Josh's bag - staff meeting at seven-thirty.

He could've waited until tonight, but he had promised. Josh had wanted them yesterday. 

He would just drop the stuff off. Josh was probably still sleeping anyway; he wouldn't want to wake him. He didn't need to talk with him or anything.

Just bringing things for his friend, as he promised. That's all. 

It really wasn't about him wanting to see Josh.

Not about that at all.

Frowning slightly, he squinted at the street sign and wondered if he should have turned left at the last intersection. He wasn't overly familiar with the streets in this area. He'd had to detour from his usual route because of demonstration blockades. He should probably make a left turn at the next corner.

He could drive the usual way to GW with his eyes closed, he'd done it so often in the last few weeks. Arriving at night, leaving in the morning. CJ thought he was overdoing it. That he shouldn't be spending so much time with Josh. She thought that he had spread himself too thin.

But there were things she didn't know. Things that she and the others had not been told.

He had seen it in Josh's eyes. Recognized it, when his friend woke up in the middle of the night, hands clamped tight over the still tender scar, sweat dotting his skin. He knew that his heart pounded wildly in his constricted chest, that his breath came in gasps. He knew how he felt. He knew what he dreamt. 

He would touch his hands then. Reminding him silently that it was over, and he had survived. They would joke about things, or even play a game or two, until Josh fell asleep again. The doctor had mentioned traumatic experiences often caused such reactions, and they would eventually stop.

His eyes strayed again to the paper bag on the passenger seat.

The dreams would eventually go away. And until then, he would be there.

A bark sliced through the stagnant morning air. 

He looked up, and a flash of bright red caught at the corner of his eye. In front of his car. On his left.

Instinctively, his hands jerked the wheel to the right. His foot slammed on the brakes.

The world swivelled. Screeching flooded his ears. Pain flared.

Then everything was still again. 

The rain kept falling.

Something was pounding far away. Someone was shouting. A dog barked.

The shouting and pounding and drumming and barking all blended together into soft dark silence.

As they slowly dissolved away, the green digits on the clock jumped ahead.

6:14 a.m.

  
  


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Questions and comments please send to hana_syoubu@yahoo.ca. Thanks. 


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